


Simon Tam: Wayward Babe

by sffan



Series: Simon Tam: Companion [1]
Category: Firefly
Genre: Alternate Universe, Companion in Training, M/M, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-01
Updated: 2018-07-01
Packaged: 2019-04-29 13:53:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14474094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sffan/pseuds/sffan
Summary: In this universe, Simon is a Companion-in-training. While out looking for some fun, he meets some people we're all familiar with.





	Simon Tam: Wayward Babe

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to: Brenda, my wonderful beta, corrupter of the last vestiges of my innocence. Any remaining spelling or grammar mistakes are mine. And to rueful_anarchy for the idea.
> 
> I knew Open Doors was going to be uploading my fic. I had no idea they actually had....
> 
> Original publication date: December 9, 2002
> 
> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Firefly’s Glow](https://fanlore.org/wiki/Firefly%27s_Glow), and was moved to the AO3 as part of the Open Doors project in 2018. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are the creator and would like to claim this work, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Firefly's Glow collection profile](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/fireflysglow/profile).
> 
> My disclaimer: This fic is from a previous archive, written between 2002 and 2008. No additional changes or edits have been made since it’s original posting date and none will be. A further note, Firefly was my first fandom, there are bound to be rookie mistakes. To preserve my own development as a writer, I am not editing or correcting them. You may find yourself making this face O_o occasionally.

I'm lounging in a chair in the private area of the Companion's Guild, one leg propped up on the arm of the chair swinging my foot back and forth. Even back here, where clients aren't allowed, I can't completely forget my training so were a client to see me they would have no choice but to be fascinated by how gracefully I am slouched in the chair. I let out a huge sigh. 

"What the heck was that for?" asks my fellow companion-in-training, Sophie. She's petite, with long auburn hair that hangs in tight ringlet curls down her back. She is currently sitting on the floor working on a jigsaw puzzle. 

"I'm bored, Sophie. Bored, bored, bored, bored, bored." I say dramatically. 

"It can't be _that_ bad." She says. "Don't you have a client tonight?" 

"Nope. Thank the universe. I swear, Sophie, my last three clients were terrible. One was so old he couldn't get it up, the second just wanted to babble on and on and on about her husband, and the third, tasted like death. I swear," I complain. "I can't WAIT until they start letting us choose our own clients. No more geezers for me." 

She looks at me, raises an eyebrow, and says, "Never?" 

"Oh, all right, one or two, but they're going to have to be really stinking rich," I say and we share a soft laugh. 

I get down on the floor next to her and tug on one of her curls, "I'm sneaking into town tonight, see what's out there. Come with me, it'll be fun. You know we make a great team, remember that time with... " 

"I can't," she interrupts. "I have a client." 

"Cover for me?" I ask. 

"Of course. But you owe me. You owe me large for this," Sophie says, her big green eyes sparkling with mirth. 

"Whatever you want - it's yours," I say and kiss her on the cheek as I get up. 

"Even your new vest?" she calls back to me as I bound up the stairs to my room. I pretend not to hear her. I really like that vest. 

I pay particular attention to my outfit. I put on my tightest fitting black pants with my whitest, crispest shirt. Over this I put on a gold silk vest with a bit of blue running through it. The vest hugs my body, accentuating the flatness of my stomach and the arch of my spine as it curves toward my ass. I take one last look in the mirror to make sure my hair is smooth. O.K. time to go. 

* * *

As I enter the bar, I can feel the eyes on me. I smooth my new vest down as I walk my most graceful walk to the bar and perch delicately on a stool. 

"What do you have to drink here, bartender," I ask, hearing the murmurs behind me. Companions don't often come into places like this; no one here could afford their services. 

"Beer and whiskey," he states. 

"I'll have a beer," I say. I detest whiskey. 

He pours me a beer and hands me the mug. I take it and spin agilely on my stool so that I can see the patrons this fine establishment. I scan the crowd with my eyes and suddenly they catch this piercing gaze coming from a large bearded man near the wall. I take a sip of beer and perform the ritual of examination - trying to determine as much about him as possible before even speaking to him. His beard is neatly trimmed - some pride and vanity there, belying the worn nature of his clothes and he's covered in weaponry. Mercenary, I think to myself. Only a mercenary carries that many different weapons at the same time. He sits loosely, legs spread wide, one leg a bit in front of the other, but there's a wariness in his eyes that tells me he could draw and fire one of those guns before the target knew what hit him. I glance over at his comrades, taking them in quickly. There's a tall, lean, dangerously beautiful woman deep in conversation with a man wearing the loudest floral print shirt I've ever seen. The way they're so attentive to each other, even in the midst of what now seems to be an argument gives them away - married and deeply into each other - no chance for fun there. I turn my gaze to the fourth member of the group. Somehow, even though his chair is tipped back against the wall, this one is even more alert than the merc. Something in the way the others are seated around him tells me that he's the leader of this group. Soon my eyes are drawn back to the mercenary. I put my glass down on the bar without turning. Time for some fun. 

I slide off the stool in one lithe movement and sinuously walk towards a group of rough men playing pool at the tables that separate me from my target. I can feel the mercenary's eyes practically crawling all over me. 

"Who wants to play for a little wager?" I ask as I choose a pool cue and ever so slowly slide my fingers down it, peripherally aware that the big man is still following my every move with his eyes. 

"What's the wager?" one of them asks suspiciously. 

"I lose, the winner gets this," I say as I fish a gold coin out of my vest pocket and nimbly roll it across the back of my knuckles before I flip it onto the edge of the table. 

"And if you win?" another asks. 

"I get a kiss, and the loser still gets the coin," I answer. Several of the men back away, but one, a skinny blond guy, takes me up on my offer. 

It's a simple matter of geometry and physics to ensure that the balls on the table go where I want them, ensuring hat several of my shots require that I have to bend over the side of the table so that my bottom is presented towards the mercenary. I lose quite handily. I toss the coin to the man and turn back towards the bar. 

"Any more takers?" I ask leaning my weight partially on the pool cue with my hip cocked out to one side. 

A few of the men who had backed away the first time begin to step forward, but then the mercenary unfolds himself from his chair and they fall back. 

"Me." 

I start at his feet and pan slowly up his body pausing at crotch, chest, and face. While my eyes trail up him, I once again slowly stroke the pool cue with my fingers. 

"My, aren't you a big one," I purr when my eyes meet his again. "What's your name?" 

"Jayne," he growls. 

"Jayne," I repeat. I say it again, slowly, drawing it out, "Jaaayyynnne, nice name, strong, powerful. I'm Simon." 

"You gonna keep yakkin' or are we gonna play some pool," he asks rudely, as his eyes keep drifting to my busy fingers on the pool cue. 

"You break," I say as I lean my cue up against the side of the table. As Jayne gets to work on the table, I unbutton my vest and slip it off, folding it neatly. I hand it to the leader, our hands touching briefly. 

"Hold this, please," I say, looking down into his dark blue eyes. "I don't want it to get dirty." I unbutton my sleeves and roll them half way up my arms and undo the first couple of buttons of my shirt, exposing the smooth skin at the hollow of my throat. ." As I turn away, I see out of the corner of my eye, his hand caressing my still warm vest. I keep my head down as I smile to myself. 

Jayne still hasn't missed a shot. As I watch him line up shot after shot and sink them, I realize I'm in danger of losing this wager. So I stretch - languorously, one vertebra at a time, arms over my head, arching my back and making a little squeaking noise. My display has the desired effect. It's my turn at the table. I go around the table to where Jayne is standing and squeeze myself between him and the side, putting my hand on his side to gently push him back - he is warm and firm under my hand and the feel of him sends a jolt of electricity up my arm. He steps back, but I deliberately brush his thigh with my ass as I bend over the table to make my shot. I start making quick work of the balls left on the table. I can't let him go again or I won't get my kiss. 

"Hey Jayne, it looks like you're being hustled," comes a laughing voice from the table. It's the husband. 

"Looks like," he says, scowling a little as I sink the last shot. 

I approach him slowly and place a hand on his chest as I look up at him. 

"I win. You owe me a kiss." I push him gently but firmly so that he is sitting on the edge of the table, legs spread slightly, with his hands on either side of his legs. 

"An' you owe me a coin," he says. 

I walk forward running my fingers delicately up his thighs, applying light pressure so that he spreads them wider so that I may move closer to him. I can feel the heat of his crotch radiating against my stomach. I place my hands on his hips, working one finger up under his worn t-shirt so that I can run my finger over his flesh. He jerks a little, but doesn't stop me. I look into his eyes and bring my lips closer and closer to his. His face is reddening and his breath is beginning to speed up. The mercenary's scent fills my nostrils - tobacco, beer, and that wonderful musky smell certain men have. I breathe deeply arching my chest towards him and lean in closer. Our lips are about to touch when I then stop. 

"Oh, your coin," I whisper and move the hand not in his shirt towards my front pants pocket. 

"Rut your ruttin' coin," he growls as his hands come up, one cupping my head and the other coming to rest in the arch of my back, not quite touching my ass. His mouth presses down on mine and when his strong tongue meets mine, I surprise myself and moan. I hadn't felt this much desire for anyone in a long time. I raise one hand up to his head, luxuriating in the feel of his soft brush cut against my palm and use the hand in his shirt to pull him forward so that I can grind him against me. His erection prods me in the stomach and I push my arm up the back of his shirt to dig my fingers into the strong back. I don't care that we're in a public place, drawing stares, and I begin to move my body against him. 

"Simon? Simon Tam?" The sound of the elegant, educated voice freezes me. I pull away and turn quickly in the big man's embrace. I gasp for air through kiss-swollen lips. "M...Mistress Inara?" 

She is the last person I expect to see here, in this dive. But there she is, in all her serene, regal beauty - my second year instructor - the one who taught me how to touch and please a woman, even after all the others had given up on me. Standing next to her is a pretty girl, with a round face and wide eyes. 

"No need to call me that now, Simon. I'm not your instructor anymore. But, if I have calculated correctly, you are still several months from graduation - so I must ask, what are you doing in here?" The girl with her moves over to the table where Jayne's friends are sitting and I realize these must be the people she shipped out with two years ago. 

I've regained my composure while she was talking, using my training to calm my jangling nerves. I lean back against the warm body behind me. 

"Having some fun," I say in a playful voice, running a hand up the thigh beside me. 

"Simon, you do know you can get thrown out of the guild if they discover that you left without authorization?" she asks rhetorically, knowing full well that I know this. "Well," she sighs, "I guess I'd better get you back before you get into trouble. Say goodbye to your new friend." 

I turn in Jayne's arms, look up into his beautiful eyes, and run my hand lightly across his cheek, rubbing my fingertips against his beard as I lean towards him. I brush his lips with mine, flicking my tongue out to lick his lips. 

"Come and see me in about four months, stud, and maybe we can complete this unfinished business." 

I walk over to the leader and collect my vest, which has been resting on his thigh. I shrug into it and re-button my shirt. I turn to Inara, offering her my arm. She takes it and we begin to walk through the crowded bar. I look back over my shoulder and see Jayne still sitting there on the pool table, his eyes watching me leave. I wink at him and put an extra wiggle in my step as Inara and I head towards the door. 

Damn, those eyes are going to haunt my dreams for weeks. 


End file.
